


Stay

by detective_terrible_detective



Series: Tales from Camelot and beyond [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Blind Character, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Internalized Homophobia, Internalized Misogyny, M/M, Misogyny, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 08:09:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16471922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detective_terrible_detective/pseuds/detective_terrible_detective
Summary: He met Merlin at school. They had never been friends, had never really talked. Gwaine knew about Merlin, everyone did. Will delighted in telling that story. But they'd never been friends, and there was a small piece of Gwaine full of regret.





	Stay

He met Merlin at school.

The shy boy, the quiet boy, the one who sat with the girls. The one who whispered an answer to Gwaine in history class. The one who tried to punch Arthur Pendragon when he made fun of Guinevere. The one without a father. The blind one. Well, half-blind. They looked the same, but Gwaine had been assured by Will – an old family friend—that the left eye was useless, not much more than a pretty piece of decoration. No, not pretty. That was ridiculous. Boys couldn’t, _shouldn’t_ , be pretty. Except, Merlin’s eyes were.

~

Gwaine was twelve when father died, killed by a cart driver with a runaway horse. He hadn’t seen the body—it wasn’t father, _it couldn’t be—_ but he’d heard the grown-ups talking, using words like ‘crushed’ or ‘mangled’. He didn’t quite know what they meant—he didn’t really want to know, anyway—but he didn’t think they were good.

The house felt empty without father. Mother flitted around the empty rooms, never settling anywhere—except at night, when she huddled in the big bed she and father shared— _used_ to share—and cried. Gwaine had thought about comforting her one night, but he didn’t think she wanted him to know. In the first weeks after his—Gwaine still didn’t want to say it—after he _left_ , the house had been full of visitors and mourners, but now it was just him and mother.

He didn’t like it. Gwaine missed father—missed his loud laugh, missed his warm hugs, missed the way he and mother danced to the radio. He even missed the way they would always kiss at the end, making Gwaine squirm uncomfortably. He’d cried when mother told him, but not for long. Boys didn’t cry—only girls cried. Since then he’d resolutely swallowed back the tears that gathered, gritting his teeth and rough-housing with his friends.

But not now. He was alone, sitting near the edge of the cliff, listening to the waves crash against the rocks far below. Nobody could see him here; nobody would mind if he cried, just a little bit (that didn’t mean he was a girl.) Except, someone had just put a hand on his shoulder. Gwaine jumped up, brushing his tears away furiously, hoping his face wasn’t too blotchy, and prepared to shout at whichever of his friends had snuck up on him.

It was Merlin.

“Were you crying?”

“No!” Yes.

 "Alright." Merlin shrugged and sat on the same rock Gwaine had been sitting on just moments before. Unwilling to stand like a fool, Gwaine sat too—not on the rock, he didn't want to sit next to the strange boy who confused him, sitting instead on the ground. It was damp and the dirt clung to his trousers, but it was better than the rock. 

He shifted impatiently, waiting for Merlin to say something. He didn't, just stared out across the ocean, to where the blue turned grey and blended into the sky. Gwaine didn’t understand what was so interesting about it, it was only _water_ , after all. But maybe Merlin didn’t care about the water, maybe he was thinking, about how he had seen Gwaine cry and—no. Gwaine hadn’t been crying. That was for girls.

“I wasn’t crying,” Gwaine blurted, feeling his ears burn.

“I know,” Merlin replied, still looking out at the ocean.

“I’m not a girl,” he mumbled, scratching at the dirt. He could feel it getting stuck under his fingernail. Mother would have a fit—no she wouldn’t, not anymore, not now that father wasn’t there, not now that all she did was cry, because father _wasn’t there—_

Gwaine brushed at his cheek furiously. He _wasn’t_ going to cry. Not with Merlin sitting there, staring across the ocean with his pretty—no, not pretty—eyes. Eye. He sniffed, loudly. Merlin didn’t hear it. Probably.

“I’m sorry. About your dad. And for sneaking up on you. And for making you uncomfortable.” Gwaine looked up in surprise. Merlin was looking at him—had he noticed the redness in Gwaine’s face?—and making an embarrassed face. Why was he embarrassed? What had he done? It had all been Gwaine, making a fuss and acting like a girl.

Not knowing what to say in return, he shrugged uncomfortably. What did he say in return to an apology like that? Merlin obviously took his silence for what it was—discomfort. He stood up, brushing off his own trousers. “I’ll go now.” And he did.

As Merlin walked away, Gwaine wondered what would have happened if he’d asked Merlin to stay.

~

The next time Gwaine talked to Merlin, he was again struggling not to cry.

On his way home from school, he’d walked past a particularly inviting tree. The day was warm—Gwaine had rolled his shirt sleeves up, but he couldn’t take it off. The last time he had, old Gaius had seen him and told his mother—and the tree had just the right amount of leaves. In a matter of moments, he had sprung over the low wall lining the field and seized the lowest branch, abandoning his books amongst the grass and leaves.

He stood there for a moment, savouring the crispness of the shade. The noise of a cart spoiled his peace. He couldn’t be caught in the field—not again. He dropped from the branch and gave a strangled cry has his ankle twisted beneath him, caught in a furrow. The rumbling of the cart faded away, taking the fork in the road that lead away from Gwaine and the field. _Away_ from Gwaine. Nobody was helping him.

Biting down on his lip firmly, he shifted backward, off his knees and resting on his back. That felt fine. Bracing his hands—he stopped biting his lip. The pressure was beginning to hurt—on the dirt, he pushed up. And fell again—he didn’t cry out this time—as his ankle carried weight. His head hit the ground with a dull thunk.

“Are—are you all right there?”

Gwaine pushed down a groan—that wouldn’t have been polite. Everybody was always telling Gwaine he needed to be politer—as he heard. _Merlin_. It couldn’t have been Lancelot? He wouldn’t have laughed. Percival probably wouldn’t have either. He would’ve even settled for Arthur; it was _his_ field. Anyone but Merlin.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Merlin. It was that he had no idea _how_ he felt about Merlin. Everything was very confusing.

“Gwaine?” Merlin was standing over him now, his shadow falling across Gwaine’s face. “Is everything all right?”

“Fine,” he muttered. To prove it, he stood up—he’d never had a very good memory—and bit down on his lip— _hard_. It drew blood—as the ankle buckled beneath him. To his immense embarrassment, tears gathered in his eyes.

Merlin frowned, thinking. As though reminded of something, he turned away. “I’ll go now.” And Gwaine too was reminded of something. Several years before, on a windy cliff. And he answered his younger self’s question.

“Stay.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, this barely counts as Merwaine, but I really wanted to write about young Gwaine. Hopefully, I didn't do too badly - I have no idea how teenage boys think!  
> As always, let me know in the comments what you thought of this work, and if there's anything else you'd like to see from this universe!


End file.
